Collision - Fred Weasley

Chapter twenty

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That night, the Slytherin common room was completely different. It's usual dimly lit, cold, space had been turned into the most crazy party of the year. Green and silver banners all across the walls, enchanted colourful lanterns hovering above them, and music filled the room.

The invitations had spread rather quickly. Even Gryffindors were welcome, though it was widely understood this was a pity gesture, a not-so-subtle reminder of their loss earlier that day. 

It didn't seem to matter, though. By nightfall, every house was wrapped in the common room, by the promise of alcohol, loud music and colourful lights.

Lyra of course, stood near the center of it all, wearing a dark red dress that clung to her figure perfectly. The dress was unlike anything she usually wore, this one was bold. The neckline dipped low, and the fabric shimmered in the flickering light. 

Her hair was neatly straightened, falling gracefully down her back, decorated with small velvet ribbons, matching her red velvet heels.

Everyone seemed to want a moment with her, to congratulate her on the game or buy her a drink. She moved through the crowd effortlessly, exchanging smiles and shitty comments with her teammates.

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"That dress suits you, Lyra, really well," Blaise Zabini smirked with a breath, offering her a drink. "But I bet it's not because of the dress that has everyone staring."

Lyra raised an eyebrow, taking the glass with a smirk. "Jealous, Zabini?" 

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, leaning against the wall. "Just making an observation."She smiled, taking a sip of the firewhiskey he had offered her. The strong scent of alcohol filled her nose, and it pleasantly burned as it slid down her throat.

Across the room, Fred and George Weasley stood with a few friends from other houses. They were dressed casually; blacks suit pants and a white button up shirts, neatly tucked beneath the waistband of their pants.

Fred's eyes scanned the room until they landed on Lyra, and for a moment, he just stared. He was unsure if it really was her.

She hadn't even noticed him, thought of him by that matter, too wrapped up in conversations with other students, and catching up with a few girls.

George nudged Fred, smirking. "There's your girl." He teased. 

"She's not my girl," Fred replied, his jaw tightening. But his gaze lingered on her a moment too long, and George noticed.

"Right. That's why you've been staring at her since we got here."

Fred ignored him. He tried to focus on the conversation happening before him, but his eyes kept returning to the velvet dressed girl. She looked different tonight. 

"Fred, sometimes I can't tell if you just really enjoy getting degraded." George sighed. Fred rolled his eyes by his brother stupid remark, but kept his focus on the Slytherin girl.

The fierce rival who had taunted and insulted him on the Quidditch pitch was now at the center of attention. And it bothered him more than he'd like to admit. 

'What an idiot she is, thinking the guys around her are being friendly towards her because they're looking for some kind of friendship, like their eyes aren't practically undressing her.'' He thought to himself.

A group of Slytherins suddenly cheered as Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey raised their glasses, toasting Lyra in the middle of the room.

 "Lyra Arakan, the one who left Gryffindor in the dust!" Marcus roared, his words slurring slightly from the drinks. Lyra rolled her eyes by the two boy's stunt.

The crowd cheered, mostly the Slytherins, and Lyra only smiled in gratitude. It isn't before now she could feel Fred's eyes on her. It wasn't hard to tell when he was watching her, even in a room full of people. 

There was a tension between them that hadn't dissipated since the match earlier.

Eventually, her path crossed to where Fred and George stood. Their eyes met, the familiar spark of rivalry flared up. But this time, there was something else behind it. Maybe it was the ooze.

"Enjoying yourself?" Fred raised a brow, his voice low enough so only she could hear over the noise.

Lyra tilted her head, "More than I care to admit." She shrugged. "And you? What does defeat taste like, is it as sour as usual?" She taunted, empathising the word 'usual'.

Fred narrowed his eyes, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Tastes better than whatever they put in here." He replied and mentioned down to glass bowl, filled with all kinds of spirits, making the colour a deep brownish colour.

"I don't think you should drink that." Lyra replied dully. "Glad you're enjoying yourself then, despise the situation."

Fred opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Are you going to keep glaring at her like she is your long lost wife, or is someone going to get me another drink?" Angelina Johnson appeared beside Fred, her eyes darting between the two of them. 

There was a sharp edge to her voice, and Lyra could sense the bitterness. She noticed the faint bruising lingering on Angelina's face.

Lyra's lips curved into a mocking smile. "You still sore from the match, Johnson? Or was it the beating?" She taunted, the alcohol revealing her confidence.

Angelina's eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Fred placed a comforting hand on the Gryffindor's shoulder.

"Enough, both of you," he said, though his gaze flicked briefly to Lyra, who shot him an irritated glare.

Lyra didn't plan to continue, but now that Fred had practically ordered her to do so, she felt like she had to do the opposite. She collected all the stubborn-bones in her body, and finally spoke out again.

"What's wrong, Johnson? You couldn't beat me on the pitch, and you couldn't beat me off it, either. Maybe you should stick to chasing butterflies by the greenhouse, and leave the real fighting to those who can handle it."

The Gryffindor girls face flashed with anger, and she quickly turned on her heel, towards Fred. "You know what? I'm done with this, I'm done with you. Have fun with your Slytherin friends."

And with that, she stormed off, pushing through the crowd, her anger visible for everyone to see. Fred didn't go after her, he didn't even hesitate to stay behind.

His gaze lingered on Lyra for a moment longer. Muttering a small, sarcastic 'thanks', rolling his eyes.

"Has she always been like that?" She suddenly asked him, the only genuine question she has ever asked, besides all the 'are you honestly that stupid?' or 'are you even loved anywhere?' remarks. 

"No." He replied without hesitation. It was true, they used to secretly study together, but as the years went on, she caught up with him and Lyra's 'bickering back-and fourth routine', and she had been on high alert ever since.

"No, she hasn't." He muttered, seeming rather sad by memories flooding back.

"You seem sad, and regretful, and pathetic." She remarked. "If you honestly feel bad about the situation, why do you keep letting her go." Lyra asked, meeting his gaze.

Fred didn't have an answer to this, thoughts flooding through his head.

'Why did he keep letting her go?'

But before either of them could say anything more, a drunk Daphne appeared, dragging the Slytherin girl with her. 

Fred stood there, firewhiskey in his hand.

He looked awfully pathetic.

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